


love is blind (but they could see ours from a mile away)

by a_case_for_wonder



Series: Royai Week 2020 [5]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Blind Date, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Love Confessions, POV Alternating, Romance, Royai Week 2020, Team Mustang shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24684019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_case_for_wonder/pseuds/a_case_for_wonder
Summary: "Roy Mustang enters the restaurant and begins scanning the tables for the one with a single red rose. The one with his blind date at it.Her table. Goddamnit. She’s going to kill Feury."Royai Week 2020 Picture Prompt
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Series: Royai Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785040
Comments: 17
Kudos: 89





	love is blind (but they could see ours from a mile away)

**Author's Note:**

> Obsessed with the idea of Team Mustang discovering how many of Roy's "dates" are not dates and immediately going into Matchmaking Mode. Author has chosen not to think about where in the timeline this fic takes place, and you shouldn't either. A little angstier than I was intending originally but...I do have a brand I suppose. Enjoy!

Riza squeezes her eyes shut, wraps one hand around her bag, and wishes it wasn’t a habit of hers to be so damn punctual. If she’d only arrived second, she would have had a chance to run. But no, she’s early, always early, because the Colonel is late often as not, and one of them has to be there to shake hands, smile vaguely, make sure everything's settled so he can make an entrance. Not that they’ve ever talked it over in so many words. After all these years, it’s just a habit, another unsaid thing amongst dozens, hundreds.

 _Yes, far from the only unsaid thing,_ Riza thinks weakly, grimly, as Roy Mustang enters the restaurant and begins scanning the tables for the one with a single red rose. The one with his blind date at it. Her table. Goddamnit. She’s going to kill Feury.

**Two Days Earlier:**

It’s Riza’s fault, unfortunately. It’s Wednesday evening, and it’s the first truly warm night of Spring. She’s been in a good mood all day. Then Roy makes some offhand comment about a date he’s heading on, and having not gotten details about any plans from him, she slips. Her mouth runs away with her.

“A real date, sir?” She forgets the rest of the men are in the room. Forgets that other than Feury - who only knows about _Elizabeth,_ but probably has an inkling about the rest - they _don’t know._

And then Roy, caught up in her same good mood, says easily “Now Lieutenant, a gentleman never tells.” Which means it isn’t, and she ignores the way that relaxes her. It shouldn’t. It means he’s been setting up intel meetings without telling her, even if it’s just with his sisters. It’s a risk. But that isn’t what her mind wants to focus on.

It seems the same could be said for the rest of the men.

“Boss,” Breda is staring at the Colonel like he’s lost it. Across the room, Havoc’s cigarette hangs limp in his mouth. “What does she mean, real dates?”

With no other real options, they tell them. Roy does most of the talking, thankfully. Riza doesn’t embarrass easily, but something about revealing to the men that the woman on the phone their Colonel is “whipped for” is in fact _her_ is a little much. Roy, for his part, seems utterly unfazed by all of it.

“So you’re telling me all this time you’ve been ragging on me about my dating life, you haven’t been getting any?” Havoc is shaking his head ruefully. “Man, Colonel.” 

For the first time Roy almost looks a bit embarrassed, and Riza can’t help coming to his defense. “The Colonel has a very busy schedule, Havoc. Perhaps he hasn’t thought to make time for something so frivolous.” 

It’s the wrong move. Havoc rounds on her. “Aw come on, Lieutenant. You can’t really believe that. Everyone’s got time for a date now and then. Unless…” He grins. “Maybe you’re defending him because you’re going through a dry spell yourself. When’s the last time you went on a date, Hawkeye?” 

“I really don’t think this conversation is-” Roy begins.

“It’s alright, Colonel,” Riza waves him off. Havoc’s a friend, his teasing doesn’t scare her. “I haven’t been on a date very recently, no. I’ve been quite busy as well. And I spend so much time locked in here with all of you, where am I even supposed to find a date?”

Which is when Feury says “Well. I might know a guy.” 

By the end of it, they’ve reached their ridiculous agreement. Riza will allow herself to be set up on a blind date. On the condition that Roy allows Havoc to set up a blind date for him. In solidarity, you know. Both men promise to pick locations that aren’t typical military haunts, and swear up and down that the dates they have in mind are just right, and definitely both free Friday evening, as it happens. 

“I’ll tell your date that you’ll have a single rose, and to bring one as well. That’s how you’ll find each other,” Feury tells her. 

Havoc chimes in cherfully, “Hey, that’s a good idea. Colonel, I’ll tell that to your lady, and you do the same.” 

**Present**

Riza sees the moment his eye catches on the rose, the flicker of an assured smile before that gaze of his travels up and lands on the person behind it. On her, purse up on the table like some young thing about to bolt. His smile freezes in place, just for a moment. 

In retrospect, they really should have seen this coming.

Then he laughs. He weaves easily between the elegant tables, seating himself across from her like this isn’t the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to them. Like their team hasn’t set them up on a _blind date_ together, frat regs be damned, like they all know the two of them better than they know themselves and- and Roy doesn’t look put out in the slightest. His laughing grin has faded, but there’s still an amused quirk to his mouth, a playful glint in his eyes. If it weren’t for the pink at the tips of his ears, she wouldn’t have thought him affected at all. 

He sticks out a hand as he takes his seat. “Roy Mustang, pleasure to meet you.” 

She must be looking at him like he’s grown two heads, but honestly. She stares, eyes flitting between his face and his outstretched hand in disbelief. But he doesn’t crack, just holds out his hand with that steady, earnest amusement of his, and after a few seconds she feels a smile pulling at her own mouth, despite herself. 

“Riza Hawkeye,” she relents, taking his hand in a grip that’s just a little too slow for a handshake, on both their parts. She forces herself not to snatch hers back out of the warmth of his grip. _Get ahold of yourself, Riza. It’s just R- it’s the Colonel._

Still, she can’t keep up his game. 

“Can I count on your assistance to hold your men accountable for this, sir?” She asks instead. 

He laughs again, like she knew he would, but it’s a milder thing, easier to swallow. Easier to meet his eyes when she drops his hand, and pretend she isn’t wearing a dress designed to show her off. Pretend that his suit - a closer, more elegant cut than his uniform jacket, over a perfectly fit waistcoat - isn’t doing the exact same thing.

* * *

Roy is pretty sure he’s managing to play it cool, but the truth is the moment he saw her, he’d just about swallowed his own tongue. She’s beautiful, the most beautiful woman he knows, he’s been able to admit that to himself for a while now, but there’s something about this dress. It’s a short sleeved concoction of draped, airy fabric in a mix of olive and emerald green that sets off her hair and eyes perfectly. The neckline is low and squared off, edged in little gold beads he has to tear his eyes away from. 

Maybe it’s the context, more than anything. It says “I put this on specifically to look good. I put this on so that you would look at me.” And sure, he’s certain she didn’t expect that “you” to be him but, still. It feels like he’s allowed to look, is what he means. Is allowed to find her stunning, beautiful, _hot_ in all the ways that would be totally inappropriate while they’re in uniform. 

“Don’t worry, I will,” he tells her. 

And here’s the thing. He is going to have words with his men about this, but they’re here now. In a gorgeous restaurant near the river where they’re unlikely to see anyone they know. It’s a beautiful warm evening. And goddammit, Roy wants to enjoy it.

He says, “Do you have any thoughts on the wine?” 

She doesn’t. The waiter comes by and he orders a bottle without looking at the menu. She’s put her bag down, which seems like a good sign, but her hands are resting too still on the table top, her posture ramrod straight. It’s the way she sits in meetings when she’s listening to a general give orders she knows they’re going to quietly sidestep, or when someone brings up the war. 

“So, Miss Hawkeye.” He turns back to her. “You’re looking lovely this evening. You know, my friend assured me my date was beautiful, but I have to say, I wasn’t expecting anyone like you.” 

“I wasn’t expecting someone like you, either,” she says, and he can practically hear the “sir” she swallows at the end of it. She gives him a rueful look. “Maybe I should have, though.” A beat, careful. “You aren’t looking bad yourself.” 

The wine arrives, and Roy pours her glass. They’re here, they may as well enjoy it. He tries to imagine this is just another date, a real one, with a beautiful, intelligent woman who is not the subordinate officer he’s been in love with for at least a decade. He tries. He’s charming, complementing her jewelry, making quiet jokes about the people at neighboring tables. He asks if she’s been here before, and would she like another glass of wine, and does she like dogs? His friend has a little one that’s just adorable. 

They haven’t even ordered appetizers when he knows it isn’t working. She’s playing along, but she hasn’t really smiled since that first little laugh over his handshake stunt. Her cheeks are flushed, and her hands keep drifting back to her bag like she’s fighting the urge to bolt. 

“Riza-” he begins, and the hand around her bag tightens abruptly. 

“I need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back s- I’ll be right back.” 

He gives her five minutes. Then he waves over a waiter, hands over enough cash to cover the wine and their time, and goes after her, leaving the roses behind on the table. He finds her around the back, leaning against the rough brick of the building with her eyes half-closed. It looks like she’s concentrating on breathing. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her this uncentered, certainly not when one of them wasn’t actively bleeding out. 

“You’re going to tear your dress on that brick.” 

Her eyes snap to him, her whole body going taught. Then she relaxes against the wall again, going slack with a tired sigh. “Colonel.” 

“I paid the check,” he tells her. “You’re free to leave. I apologize I-” He fumbles, and it’s so frustrating. Roy Mustang doesn’t _fumble._ Except, apparently, around her. “I should have turned around at the door. This was a bad idea.” 

She nods, eyes fully closed now. But she doesn’t go anywhere. Doesn’t move when he steps closer. Doesn’t fight him when he pulls off his jacket and drapes it around her goose-bumped shoulders. He squeezes her arms, not quite able to bring himself to step away now that he’s so close, and her face tightens in- grief, is the only word he has for it. Like it’s going to rain, he thinks nonsensically. “Lieutenant-” 

“Sir,” it’s a whisper. She still hasn’t opened her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. And he means for all of it. For his part in dragging her into the military, into Ishval. For the pain they share over the secrets of flame alchemy. But mostly for this, for falling in love with her and not being able to hide it, and also not being able to do anything about it. For watching her love him right back, and going on calling her “Lieutenant,” and keeping her under his command. 

She shrugs a little in his grip. When she opens her eyes, her gaze is so, so tired. “I knew what I was getting into,” she says. 

It would be easier, maybe, to not believe her. But she’s never made a habit of lying for his comfort. “Yes, well.” His thumbs rub at her shoulders. He wants to hold her, more than it feels like he’s ever wanted anything. More than he wants to be Fuhrer, for a moment. Just hold her, not because she’s bleeding or burned or breaking down, but because he loves her. Because- just because, dammit. “Riza-” 

“Don’t.” She shudders, and her face is pained. “Please. I can’t-” She squares her shoulders, and for a moment she’s all soldier again. “I need to have your back, sir. That’s- that’s the most important thing. Anything else, it’s too risky.” 

“You should at least get to hear me say it,” he says helplessly, but she shakes her head. 

“I know,” she says softly, as close to pleading as she ever gets. “I already know, sir. Hearing it would just make it harder.” 

He exhales shakily, and steps back from her. “Walk with me, Lieutenant? It’s a nice night. It would be a shame to waste it. Not to mention I couldn’t possibly let you try and make your way home unaccompanied. Who knows what kind of dangers lurk in this part of town?”

* * *

Riza hands him back his jacket before they exit the alley, but when he holds out his arm she lets herself tentatively wrap one hand loosely around his elbow. It’s a bustling Spring evening, far from the office, and neither of them are in uniform. They aren’t going to be recognized. She pulls the spare glasses out of her purse and slides them on anyway, just to be safe. He smiles. 

They amble slowly toward the river. The sun is setting now, a warm orange glow that fans out over the water like little flickers of flame, glittering with the current. Couples and families mingle and pass, laughing, carefree, the children with ice cream on their faces. Roy insists on stopping at a little cart for steaming dumplings, chatting up the elderly woman who serves them in earnest, stumbling Xingese. Riza can’t look away. They make their way to the waterfront, fingers hot with their fresh dumpling boxes, arm in arm. 

Roy finds them a bench on a more secluded section of the waterfront, between a few shops that have already closed for the evening. The crowds are thinner here, mostly residents on their way home for the day. He shoos away a couple of pigeons pecking at the bench for crumbs.

“Careful, sir. They look like they could put up a good fight for your dumplings.” 

“It’s good that I’ve got my loyal Lieutenant to protect me, then,” he says sagely as he sits. 

Riza takes her hand from his arm, slipping it into a nearly invisible slit in the flowing layers of her skirt. Her hand wraps around the weapon in her thigh holster, and she watches something like delight flash in Roy’s eyes as he realizes. 

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you unprotected, sir,” she says, and sits as well. 

The dumplings are delicious. They make easy, slow conversation about nothing, just absorbing the last rays of the setting sun. Here, by the water, burning their fingers on hot vegetables and pork, Riza almost feels normal. Like maybe this is what they could have become if neither of them had ever joined the military. If they’d picked up the pieces sooner in the ruins of her father’s death, made some other life for themselves where they could go on dates and not worry about who might see them. 

Roy wraps his arm around her shoulder. She leans into the warmth of him, unable to help herself. 

Without the war, would they have even stayed together? Or would their early attraction have faded to the realm of another childhood crush, leaving them to go on to lead totally separate lives? She hates that she has no idea. That she doesn’t want to. 

“...Hawkeye?”

She’s been quiet for too long, she realizes. “It’s fine, sir. It’s- I’m- I’m alright.” She isn’t. 

“You aren’t.” He sighs again. “Hawkeye.” He hesitates. Then, a little desperately, “Riza.” 

His hand, which has been stroking slow, mindless patterns over her shoulder, goes still. Then, very deliberately, his thumb taps against her shoulder. Two quick beats.

Her eyes shoot up to his face, wide and alert. He’s staring out over the water, not looking at her. She relaxes deliberately into his side, following his gaze toward the horizon. Then, quiet enough for it to be nearly lost, she coughs twice. She feels the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a slow, steadying breath, then speaks. 

“Remember that old buddy of mine, Ian? I thought he got fired but it turns out he’s been in Liore this whole time! Yeah, he got transferred there after Oldtown, apparently. Figures, he and Valman never got along, they were at each other constantly.”

Riza feels pale and flushed all at once, working through the words as he goes, sifting for the proper nouns. She should stop him. She doesn’t want to. 

“More stubborn than the Elrics, that man is. Did you know he’s gotten married, too? Yana, her name is. Met her in Oldtown and she made the transfer right along with him. Took their honeymoon in…” he trails off, faltering at the end. 

She turns her head, and suddenly his face is right there, dark eyes staring down at her. 

“I think I remember you telling me about the resort,” she whispers. Her voice is strained, almost wet. She dares to reach up and brush a hand against his cheek, just an inch from his mouth. “Utopia, wasn’t it called?” 

Ian. Leore, Oldtown, Valman, Elrics. Yana, Oldtown. 

Utopia. 

_I love you._

* * *

If Roy was the sort of man prone to emotional tears, he might have sobbed in relief. She’d followed. Not only that, she’d- she’d picked up the end of the thread. Picked up his loose ends, tied them off neat, gave them back to him, just like she always does. His back, his follow-through. His Lieutenant. His Hawkeye. 

“Utopia,” he breathes, and hates that that’s the word she chose. “Stupid sort of name. Perfect but impossible.” He doesn’t remember moving closer, but the last of those words end up against her cheek, the two of them curled closer and closer despite themselves, tucked onto the bench by the river, oblivious to the passing world.

“I’m sorry, Roy,” she says, and the hot flush of his name on her tongue has just enough time to swoop through his whole body, gut to head to toes, before she’s kissing him. 

She’s trembling, that’s the first thing he notices through the shock of it. Riza Hawkeye doesn’t tremble. She’s his rock, the only thing he has to cling to, sometimes. She’s wavered a total of once since the day she stood before him and promised to follow him into hell, and that was when she’d been convinced he was dead. It’s a chaste kiss, over nearly as soon as it begins, but when he pulls back to meet her eyes she’s closed them, face the desperately blank arrangement that he recognizes as grief. 

“Riza. Hawkeye. Ah, damnit.” He pulls her all the way in this time, not to kiss but just to hold, finally, her whole upper body flush with his. It’s like something sliding into place, a piece of the puzzle of his heart that’s been sitting askew for fifteen years finally settling. It hurts like hell. “I’m sorry, too.”

* * *

She wants to cry, a tiny part of her brain thinks. She wants to beat her fists against his chest and yell about how unfair it is. That she is stuck loving Roy Mustang, impossibly and irrevocably. That she loves him so much because of the dreams they’re building together, and those dreams are the very reason she can’t have him. The very reason she can’t ever love anyone else, either. 

“It’s my fault,” he says, because of course they’re always on the same page. “For dragging you into all of this.” 

She sighs, leans up and presses her face into the crook of his neck, because she already broke the rules once tonight and it doesn’t seem worth stopping now. She just wants him close. She always wants him close, can already feel the ache of missing him even when he’s right here pressed against her, because it’s so much a part of her: not getting to have him. 

“With all due respect sir, you couldn't drag me anywhere.” 

Some of the time - most of the time - it really doesn’t matter. She’s known he loves her for ages, though she couldn’t pinpoint anymore when she’d decided so. She’s known she loves him for longer still. She doesn’t know when it happened, not really. All she knows is when they were both at their worst, she’d promised to make the world better with him, together. And by the time she realized she already loved him, it was too late. 

“I don’t regret it,” she continues. “We- I can have a lot of regrets but-” She pulls herself away, hand sliding up to his cheek, and meets his eyes fiercely. It hurts both of them a little tonight, but she has to make sure he knows this. “You are not one of them. Understood?” 

He nods, face shifting against her palm. She drops her hand “It’s been a long day. We should both go home, get some rest.” She’s scrambling to find the walls she uses to keep them apart. “You’ll feel better in the morning, sir.”

* * *

“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” he says, hedging. She raises an eyebrow.

“Dangerous, sir.” 

He smiles. “Maybe, especially now. But look, our team sprung this on us. If this isn’t just the cruelest joke they’ve ever played on us…” 

“They know,” she finishes for him. “Or at least they’ve guessed. And they approve. They think we would… work.” 

And for some unfathomable reason, they’ve decided to actually encourage it. Which gives them an opportunity they didn’t have before. They’d always known it would be impossible, even if they’ve rarely spoken about it in so many words, this thing between them. Sneaking around would be too much work, too much stress. The risk of a court martial was too great when their goals had to be the most important thing. But if their team knew, and was on their side… 

“It’s a risk,” Riza says, clearly reading the tentative hope all over his face. “It’s a slippery slope. If we do this, and we start letting our guard down…” 

“It’s not like I’m going to start kissing you in the office,” Roy tells her, and smiles when she rolls her eyes. “But it could be a buffer. A safe space where we wouldn’t have to worry about whether we implied you’d been over to my place, or something.” 

“We’d be putting them at risk too, then.” 

Roy has thought of that already, too. “I think that this,” he makes a vague gesture at their clothes with one hand, indicating the whole situation, “is them saying they’re willing to help. So. I think I would like to try. What do you say?” 

It feels like time itself hangs in the balance while he waits for her answer. Her face is serious and firm, her soldier’s face, when she says, “Alright.”

Roy can’t help it, he grins at her. “Yeah?” 

She turns, tucks herself back against his side, looking back out over the water. But he can feel the press of her cheek against his chest when she smiles. “Yeah.” 

Roy’s heart soars. His arm tightens around her shoulder, pressing her into himself. It feels right, her beside him. It’s the best he’s ever felt. He presses a light kiss to the top of her head, then settles for sitting in comfortable silence again, grinning like a fool at the open air, giddy and overwhelmed with anticipation. They’re going to do this. He’s going to do this: love Riza, the way she’s always deserved. 

They sit like that, curled together on the bench, for so long he loses track of time, before she speaks. 

“We are still going to get back at Feury and Havoc for this, though, right?” 

“Oh, definitely.”

**Author's Note:**

> These prompts have been a total blast, and a great introduction for writing for the fandom. I'm going to keep working on "Dear Friend," my piece from day 1, and I'm sure it won't be my last piece for these two. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Comments/kudos loved and appreciated from the bottom of my heart, even if I am terrible at replying to comments in a timely manner. Love you all!


End file.
